Epilogue
Two years later
Regret isn’t something I experience often. Even when I’ve devoured an entire bowl of queso or polished off half a pizza, I don’t feel regret. It’s a choice. Maybe a poor one but a choice, nonetheless. Chairing the Jubilee this year is a regret. I love Magnolia Grove, and I am honored to chair the Jubilee. Just not when I’m four days from my due date. Ryan assured me Pepper wasn’t a big baby.
I still think he altered the birth certificate to throw me off. Although the Davises insist the data is accurate, nobody can explain to me why our son is currently estimated to weigh over nine pounds at delivery. A boy. We’re having a boy. I’m so excited to meet the little guy who has used my bladder as a trampoline these last several months. Pepper is excited to have a real-life doll to play with, and Steve would probably tell us he has no plans to babysit if he could speak.
“How are you feeling?” I groan with each shift in my seat to face Ana. She laughs. “Never mind, that says it all.”
“I’ve tried everything to move this process along and nothing. If this is a sign of the kind of teenager he’ll be, I’m sending him to live with Ms. Linda.”
My friends all laugh, and I lean back, resting my hands on my huge belly. I joke but I wouldn’t change this pregnancy experience for the world. These last two years have been a whirlwind to say the least. Each morning, I take a few minutes alone while I’m in the greenhouse to talk to my mom and Gran. I wish they could be here with us, experiencing this life we’re building. Ryan and I married quickly after his big proclamation during the Jubilee two years ago and have continued to split our time between Magnolia Grove and Nashville.
While my husband hasn’t retired from superstar life, he has focused more on writing and producing for other artists. He was right, the song he and Cora wrote during his few weeks in town shot up the charts and earned them multiple awards last year. The only time I’ve been prouder was when our daughter stood in front of her second grade class and shared a poem she wrote.
Pepper still has her quiet moments, and we’ve learned to give her space during those times. Our therapist, because we all go together once a month, affirmed it was the right way to let her maneuver all the changes and still process her grief. I know from experience grief never goes away. Or at least, I’m learning more about that in my one-on-one sessions. It never occurred to me that so many years after losing my parents I would need to start the process myself, but it’s how I’ve learned so much about myself and, really, life.
“How’s my beautiful wife?”
I cringe as Ryan leans down to kiss me, sweat dripping from his... well everywhere.
“You are gross and sweaty.”
He whispers only for me to hear, “You don’t usually mind when I’m sweaty.”
“Yeah, and that’s what got us into this mess,” I tease, running my hands across my stomach.
Everyone laughs and the guys, each of them in a varying state of grossness, take a step back. This year, with me unable to be as hands-on with the Jubilee, has required the husbands to step up with a lot of the big pieces, including building the stage where Ryan will perform at the dance. The Ramblers are back from their first tour and agreed to headline so in a twist of fate, Ryan is actually opening for them.
“Have you seen our daughter? I wanted to take her back to the house while I shower. Make sure she eats something with nutritional value.”
With Ryan’s and Mattie’s help, I stand from my seat and stretch my back. “Thanks. Uncle Freddy took her and Steve to the house. He had the same idea. I told him we’d scoop her up when we got back to the house for you to shower. I need to lie down; my back has been killing me all day.”
“Well, come on wifey, let’s get you and this guy home for a little rest before the festivities.”
We say our goodbyes to our friends and walk hand-in-hand to where the truck is parked behind the stage. I always wanted a partnership like the one I saw with my parents and grandparents. Someone who supported me unconditionally while loving me just the same. I didn’t know men like Ryan Miller existed in real life. In these two years we’ve been together, he’s shown me in every way imaginable what it’s like to share a life with someone. He listened when I freaked out the first time Pepper called me Mom. I’ve never wanted to replace Katie, and it was difficult for me to process the array of emotions that single statement created. Elation and love and fear I had done something wrong.
Turns out, my daughter is smarter than all of us. Sometimes you can be lucky enough to have more than one mama. I have a mommy in heaven who protects me and a mommy here who takes care of me. She was wrong about one thing. I will also protect her. This entire town has and will do the same for her brother and any other siblings my husband convinces me to bring into this world.
When we step up to the truck, Ryan spins me around and like he’s done millions of times since our first kiss, he cups my face and stares into my eyes. “How’d I get so lucky?”
“Hmm. I could argue that I’m the lucky one, but considering I’m carrying your linebacker of a son, I’d have to agree with you on this one.”
He smirks and kisses me. Maybe it’s the way this man can still send a shiver across my skin with a single touch of his lips, or it was the jalapeno bagel with double jalapeno cream cheese I had as my pre-breakfast snack, but a rush of liquid runs down my leg, causing me to shriek in surprise and then in discomfort.
“Uh, babe? Did your water just break?”
Tears fill my eyes, and I nod. Ryan whoops and helps me into the truck before jogging to the driver’s side and jumping into his seat. The engine roars to life and I place my hand on his arm, pulling his attention from the task at hand.
“We need to get our girl and for all that is good in this world, please shower before we head to the hospital.”
On a mission, we make excellent time running by the house for Ryan to shower, me to change my pants, and Pepper to help me with timing the contractions. The three of us file into my birthing room, our daughter insisting she be part of the process as long as possible. Uncle Freddy pops in and out as do a few of our friends. Labor is long and exhausting but at just after two in the morning our beautiful son, Elliott James Miller, named after my father and grandfather respectively, entered the world with a wail then a look of awe on his face.
It’s the same expression I have each day as I look at my family and thank those who are no longer with us for guiding us to one another.
The End.